


The Other Side of the River

by azn-jack-fiend (ajf)



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Miracle Day, Miracle Day Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-23
Updated: 2011-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-19 17:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajf/pseuds/azn-jack-fiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Rex have a history together, of sorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Side of the River

**Author's Note:**

> I wouldn't suggest reading this fic unless you're a Miracle Day spoiler fiend and have seen material like [this latest trailer](http://tw-gleeclub.livejournal.com/64298.html). I based this mainly on set photos that show Rex with a wound to the chest. I extrapolated the rest based on general knowledge of the plot of Miracle Day, and have no doubt that this fic will be jossed soon. The only question is, by how much? Hmm.
> 
> Betaed by [](http://heddychaa.livejournal.com/profile)[**heddychaa**](http://heddychaa.livejournal.com/)  and [](http://neo-prodigy.livejournal.com/profile)[**neo_prodigy**](http://neo-prodigy.livejournal.com/). Thanks!

“It's a variant on a paradox machine,” said Jack, leaning against the wall of their motel room, trying to outline the temporal mechanics with his fingers in the stale, sticky air as if they were in a virtual sensorium alive with light.  
   
Too many centuries spent in the future.  
   
“Keep talking,” said Rex. His voice was low and hoarse as he slowly unwound the thick strip of gauze circling his chest. Eyes intent on the mirror they both faced. Jack imagined that Rex was close to shock at the lack of pain.  
   
“You're inside a paradox loop centered on the wound,” explained Jack, gesturing at Rex's reflection. “In one reality, you took a length of steel through the heart. Shredded it. You're dead.” He didn't cushion anything; Rex could handle it. “But the loop... _sticks_  you in another reality, heals you, brings you back and keeps you there. Or here. From what I've seen, give it another hour, take off the rest of those bandages and there won't be anything under them, not even a scar.”  
   
The lines of Rex's face hardened as he calculated, analyzed, extrapolated. “And that's a problem, right? The loops, getting tangled.” His fingers probed at sticky edges of the last layer over his heart, gauze shocking white against the deep brown of his chest, shocking white surrounding a small dot of red, red both bright _and_  dark in the strange way the color of blood could often seem.  
   
“Yeah,” said Jack. He wrenched his eyes from the dot, looked down at his boots, then at Rex's back, at his broad shoulders, every muscle working slowly as he tensed and probed at the edges of himself.  
   
“So what happens when we fix this thing?” asked Rex, monotone, not stopping.  
   
The moment he'd been dreading. Jack just... wasn't good at this. He told himself that Rex could be anyone who needed to know, and he could be anyone who needed to tell. Think _roles_ , not people.  
   
Jack looked towards the ceiling while he spoke. “The individual time loops resolve. Seal themselves off. Your wound goes back to the beginning, and that means, well, exactly what you think. You'll die, and it'll be quick. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry.”  
   
“So this is a suicide mission. And you tell me that.” Still monotone. Then with the last word out, his breaths began to come quicker, cutting through clenched teeth.  
   
“I used to keep a lot of secrets,” said Jack, not wanting to make this about himself, but not knowing any other way. “I was good at it. Maybe a little too good. I don't want to keep this one. And you're a soldier, aren't you? Or close enough.”  
   
“Motherfucker -- you don't know me. You don't know me at all.”  
   
The massive curves of Rex's upper arms swept down into angular, hammer-like clenched fists.    
   
And if the adrenaline pounding through his blood hit the right limit, Rex would turn and come at him, fists flying.  
   
There was violence in the air. Still, Rex wouldn't turn. He'd burn in place, that was all.  
   
“You're angry now,” Jack remarked, not bothering to speak carefully.  If Rex wanted to make this about him, if that would distract him, well, that was fine. “But however many hours or days you have to think about dying, you won't change the decision you've already made.”  
   
“Why are you still talking?” Rex's fists had unclenched, and he wasn't staring at his reflection anymore. He seemed unfocused, on his way to being lost.  
   
“I'm a talkative man.”  
   
“Guess you could say it's in your nature.” A bitter smile there. The violence was suddenly gone, and Jack wasn't sure what had just replaced it.  
   
“I know that story.” Jack pushed himself off the wall and walked towards Rex, curious. “The scorpion, or sometimes it's a snake, right?” He raised an eyebrow. “Well, we're halfway across the river, but I'm not the one who's going to kill you.”  
   
“All the stories…” and Rex trailed off. He sat down on the edge of the bed. Jack was close enough to see his real face now, not his reflection. His eyes were large, pupils wide in the low light, black as space. “You'll remember my story. For a while.”  
   
“Oh yes,” said Jack. It was so easy to promise; so hard that he couldn't promise more. He put a hand on Rex's shoulder, palm registering the heat of his skin and the tension level, slackening, underneath. Rex didn't move, just sighed.  
   
All the gesture did was remind him of how far away he was. The observer. The man who already knew it all, who'd seen the end of the world, who might not even be human anymore. He should just stay back, acknowledge that distance and the fact that he couldn't do anything for Rex.  
   
But that wasn't in his nature.  
   
To know that your actions would result in your death, and keep on — he couldn't imagine himself as the one who chose, not anymore. Different people seemed to keep drifting into the old story, though, and setting his imagination on fire.  
   
Jack thought back to Thames House, and further, to The Ritz. They hadn't seen the moment coming. If they had, would they have changed a thing? He doubted it.  
   
“I've been there, in a way. The first time I died, I chose it, and I didn't know I was coming back. You remind me of someone else, though.  He didn't know he was going to die, but…” Jack sighed — suddenly, improbably, at a loss for words.  
   
“ _You_  saw it coming.”  
   
“Do you really want me to keep talking?” Jack smiled ruefully to himself and sat down next to Rex. The air was thick and close and it seemed like a better thing to have less of it between them. His fingers stood out in stark relief against Rex's shoulder; he imagined how they could reach into the tangle of his timeline and tease apart his death. If he had that power.  
   
“If you want,” said Rex, and shrugged. He turned to meet Jack's stare. He'd found his center now. “It's gonna be alright.”  
   
“I'm fine,” Jack protested. “I'm not the one —”  
   
“You're never the one.”  
   
Jack had let this happen. He'd showed Rex the places where he ached, and of course, Rex had gone for them. Not with a knife, but with a look in his eyes that said _I'm sorry_ , and that was worse.  
   
“I don't think I want to talk anymore,” said Jack, trying not to sound bitter. “Let's go out for a drink. Do something life-affirming. I know something that's _always_  good for that. That is, if you want to go to heaven _before_  you die,” he added, with a grin and a wink. The thought of a life-affirming blowjob at some point tonight was exhilarating. Inspirational.  
   
And it threw Rex off his balance again: no flinching, but an almost imperceptible tremor of the shoulder. Oh yes, he was most definitely calculating every option, every angle.  
   
“You're something else, man. But yeah. I could go for a drink.” An answer in the nature of a tactical withdrawal, leaving room to reopen negotiations at a later point. Typical. He rose, steady, and Jack's hand fell away at last. Then he just stood there for a while, waiting. Looking down at his chest. “Should I —”  
   
“I'll help you take the rest of that off,” said Jack. “And I'll get something for the blood. Come on.”  
   
The moment was gone. The air moved between them again, trickling slow, carrying the weight of smoke and vapor from the night city. And maybe he could save him. Just this once. This time. This one.


End file.
